


Glee: The Unwritten Chronicles

by DefyingGravity2104



Category: Glee
Genre: Dancing, Glee - Freeform, High School, Klaine, Multi, Musicals, Other, Singing, St. Berry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-11-23 21:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18157469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DefyingGravity2104/pseuds/DefyingGravity2104
Summary: Kassandra Haynes hasn't had the best life so far. She was raised by only her drunken mother. For her entire life, she has been told that she doesn't have a father. Well, I can tell you right now: that's a lie. When her mother passes away, a police officer finds a note in her pocket and gives it to Kassandra. It has her father's phone number, and name."Hummel Tires and Lube. Burt Hummel speaking. How may I help you?"Finally, her life has something positive.





	1. Episode One-Pilot

It was the first day of school. The first day of ninth grade. I was no longer a middle schooler. I was a freshman in high school. I wish that was the least of my worries. I wish that I just went to school that day, only worrying about not seeing some of my friends the next year. Worrying about being one of the only new kids at the high school glee club. But no. My mother had to go to the sketchy part of town. Seriously? That’s how she went? Not some superhero-esque way? She was a complete drunkard and she went by manslaughter. “Accidental manslaughter” as the judge would say. Well, I didn’t know it was accidental because I was told to go to the office and sit there for an hour wondering why I was in the office. Apparently, the principal was trying to get more details to tell the student that didn’t have a father about her mother’s death. Why did she do it? It’s not like we had an amazing relationship anyways. We fought all the time, mainly about her drinking problem and how she should go to rehab for the fifth time in the fourteen years I had been on the earth and how she couldn’t go to rehab because then they would take me away and she “loved me so much!”. Well, I’ll tell you something. That’s. Complete. Crap. She didn’t love me as much as she told other parents she did. She only put me into dance, gymnastics, and glee clubs to either get me out of the house or for me to pay for her doctor's visits (which mainly went like “you have to stop drinking” “okay” and then as she was pulling out of the parking spot, she was also pulling out a flask). Anyways. An hour of sitting in the principal’s office. An hour of pure horror, excitement, and I don’t know what else. I wondered what he would tell me. Was I accepted into NYADA (only the best Arts college in America)? Was someone from Dancing With The Stars coming to tell me that I was an amazing dancer and that they wanted me to come be on the show? Was Barbra Streisand about to come in and tell me she wanted me to play her daughter in a spin-off of Funny Girl? I was all smiles. An hour later, though, I was not. Sadly, Barbra didn’t come in and tell me that all of my dreams were going to come true. It was just the principal.   
“Kassandra, I’m so sorry to tell you, but your mother has passed away. She was on the East side of town and was shot in the heart. We have an officer here who says he found something in your mother’s pocket which you might want to see,” the principal said. Why couldn’t it have been Barbra? I couldn’t talk. I nodded and a police man took my hand. The policeman escorted me to my classroom and I got my backpack.   
“Where are you going, Kass?” one of my friends whispered to me. I shook my head.  
“Text me later. I can’t talk right now,” I said as I walked out of the classroom. The policeman and I walked over to his car in silence.   
“So, I found a piece of paper in your mother’s pocket, and I was wondering if you might know what it means,” he said when we got to his car. He took a ziploc bag with a single piece of paper in it and gave it to me. I looked at the note. It was my mother’s handwriting, I could confirm. It said:

Kassandra, I love you. I know you hate me, but I love you so much.  
You’re the best daughter someone could ask for. Since I know what’s  
Going to happen, I’m giving you the name and phone number of your  
Father. He isn’t dead. He isn’t some random person. But, he doesn’t  
Know that you exist. Tell him that you’re my daughter. He’ll care for you.

Burt Hummel 473-7781. Lima, Ohio  
Love, your mother (whether you like it or not)

I knew my dad’s name. I knew his phone number. I knew where he lived. I knew he was a real person.   
“I have to call him,” I said. It was the first thing I had said in front of the officer and he seemed taken aback.   
“You don’t even know him. What if he’s a criminal?” the officer asked.   
“I have to call him,” I repeated, “he’s my father. I don’t care if he’s the most wanted man alive, I need to talk to him.” I took out my phone. I punched the number into it. I pocketed the paper. I heard a ringing.   
Ring…  
Ring…  
Ring…  
“Hummel Tires and Lube. Burt Hummel speaking, how may I help you?”   
“Hi. I’m Kassandra Haynes. May Haynes’ daughter. She passed away this morning and all I have left of her is a note. She said at the end of the note that you’re my father. She gave me the phone number,” I said, trying to explain everything in one breath. There was a silence. Did I say something wrong? Did he think I was some stupid kid prank calling him?   
“Oh my gosh. I can’t believe that you are an actual human being. Oh my gosh…” He was speechless.   
“She said that you’re in Ohio. I live in Washington. I don’t have anyone here. I need someone. Something. Anything,” I said, pleading for something.   
“Okay, calm down. Can you possibly get a plane ticket? Wait… how old are you?” He asked.   
“I’m fourteen. There’s no way I could get a plane ticket. I don’t even have an I.D.” I said.   
“Okay, I can come out there. I’ll get on a plane tomorrow morning. I’ll be out there by at least 5 p.m.. Do you have some place you can stay overnight?” He seemed rushed. He actually wanted to make an effort to meet me.   
“Umm, I can stay at a friend’s house,” I said.   
“Okay, just text me the address and I’ll be there as soon as possible,” he said, “I’ll be there soon.”  
“Okay. Yeah. I’ll see you later,” I said, feeling less numb. He hung up.   
The policeman came up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder.   
“So, you’ve never met your father?” he asked. I ignored him. It was 1:44 p.m.. School got out in six minutes. I would wait outside for my friend to come out and ask her mom if I could stay with her. I would explain the whole situation for her. She would totally let me stay, right?   
Six minutes passed. School let out. The very last day. I asked her mom.  
“That’s your excuse to get away from your sick mother? Calling her dead? Jeez. That’s terrible. No, you’re not allowed to come over,” her mother said.   
It’s not an excuse. Screw you. I sat on a rock on the outside of the school. Waiting for something. While we wait, let me tell you a story. When I was five, my mother put me in a dance class. There was a boy. His name was Elijah. He was six. Yeah, I had a bit of a crush on him. We were probably the best dancers in that class. We were also partners. Well, one day, Elijah didn’t come to class. Of course, I just assumed he was sick. Well, the next day, the day after that, and every day for the rest of the class and classes that came after that, he never returned. I had asked a teacher where he went. I was concerned. She told me she wasn’t supposed to tell me. I pleaded. She said that he moved to Ohio. He had no control over it (obviously not, he was seven) and that his parents just up and left. Well, thinking about that story made me sad. It made me miss the days that were simpler. The days when all I had to worry about was where my friend was instead of calling my missing father by getting his number from a note in my dead mother’s pocket. Reminding myself of Elijah made me cry. I finally could, at it was all coming out. I was sobbing (and not the cute sobs, I was ugly crying on a whole new level). It was like a floodgate was opened at it wasn’t gonna be shutting anytime soon. I heard footsteps behind me. I knew the footsteps. It was just my teacher.   
“Kassandra, I heard what happened. I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said, “I wish that I could help but I have to get to the airport.” My eyes lit up.  
“Can you take me?” I pleaded. No one was going to let me stay with them overnight. Maybe I could just wait at the airport for my dad. “My dad’s coming from Ohio and I need a place to stay. I’ll just stay there!”  
“Well, I’m not supposed to, but since you need a place to stay, let’s go,” she said. I trusted her. She was the guidance counselor's sister (I went to see the guidance counselor a lot so I knew things that the other kids didn’t) and I knew I could trust her. We got in her car and headed to the airport. We got to the airport surprisingly fast. I mean, it wasn’t like it took us 15 minutes, more like an hour and a half, but still pretty quick. The line to park your car was insanely packed, though. While we waited, she turned on the radio. The song? Good Grief by Bastille. I liked the song, and wanted to sing along so badly, but I was afraid that she would think I was insane for singing a song only an hour or so after I found out about my mother’s death. I just hummed along a little.   
“I can’t believe you’re already a high schooler,” she said after the song ended. I nodded. I forgot to mention that she transferred from teaching middle school to high school, so I was stuck with her for a little while longer   
“You know, you would make an amazing journalist,” she said. She had been my english teacher for three years.   
“I’m not that good at writing,” I said, trying to push the compliment away.  
“Really?” she exclaimed, “Then how do you have so many A’s in my class? How do you have A’s on every exam even if you’re not amazing at the subject? I’ve seen you so focused on writing that you completely block out all of the other noises in the room. You’re a great writer.”   
“I don’t know if that’s what I want to do with my life, though,” I said, still pushing.  
“Well, what other stuff do you like? Journalism could always be a fall-back career,” she said. Was someone genuinely interested in me?   
“I like the Arts,” I explained, “I like to act, to dance, to sing, to perform like nobody's watching.”  
“I’m sure you would make an amazing actress on an amazing TV show one day,” she said.  
“No, I don’t want to act on a TV show. I want to act on Broadway. I want to be a live performer,” I was excited that I could finally tell someone my dreams.   
“That’s cute,” she said. No. I don’t want that to be one of those things that kids say when you ask what they want to be when they grow up. This isn’t like “I want to be an astronaut!” and then I end up being a lawyer. I want to be an actress on Broadway. I’m gonna do something with my life. Trust me.


	2. Episode Two: The Flight Pt. 1

I spent the night at the airport. It wasn’t ideal, but it worked. When we got there, the teacher and I asked if it was okay. We checked with security and everything and they said I could (since I believe they heard on the news that there had been a murder earlier that day). They set up a little area for me in an office and gave me some water. I tried to take a nap but I couldn’t sleep. I checked the time on my phone. Speaking of my phone, it surprisingly still had some life in the battery. 5:00 p.m.. I found a remote to the small television in the corner of the room and turned it on. The news was on. The weather, to be exact. They said it was going to be nice and sunny in the morning then a few clouds around 3ish. I don’t remember much after that. I passed out. I was exhausted and I didn’t even realize. I woke up at about 10 a.m.. I packed up my stuff (my phone, and my water bottle) and took out my wallet. When I came out of the office, all eyes were on me.   
“I was gonna go to the McDonalds near the gates,” I said cautiously.   
“We checked to see when your father’s plane is going to get here,” one lady said.  
“He’ll be landing in about two hours,” a man told me.   
“Okay,” I said as I twirled my backpack to my front and pulled out my wallet.  
“You don’t have to pay us, we’re jus--”  
“I wasn’t gonna pay you. I was gonna get a breakfast sandwich at McDonalds,” I interrupted. I wasn’t trying to be rude, I was just telling them the truth. Sometimes the truth is harsh, though. The lady smiled.  
“Of course, go ahead. If you need anything, we’ll be here all day. Your father will be arriving at Gate 7,” she said, happy to help. I found a map near where I was and located Gate 7. And, hey! It was near McDonalds. I was in Gate 9, so it wouldn’t take too long to get there. I probably looked weird. I was wearing my school uniform (a white collared shirt, a suit jacket, a red and black tie, a matching red and black skirt, and black dress shoes), had a backpack and a wallet. Sure, I was fourteen, but I was short for my age so I looked about twelve height wise. Walking through an airport all by myself. A few minutes later (more like half an hour) I got to the McDonalds near Gate 7 and got in line.   
“Hello, welcome to McDonalds, whatcha want?” a guy in his late teens asked when I got to the counter.   
“Can I have a breakfast sandwich, please?” I asked.  
“Is that all for you today?” At this point, I realized how many questions we as humans ask on a day to day basis.  
“Yup,” I confirmed.  
“Alrighty, your order will be ready in a few,” he said. He gave me my receipt and I sat in a chair near the restaurant. After about five minutes, the boy came through the door and handed me a take-out bag with my sandwich. He also slipped me a piece of paper:  
Hey, you’re pretty cute. What’s your name? Mine’s Cody. How old are you? I’m 18. Wanna hang out sometime?  
Yes  
No  
Maybe  
I seriously laughed out loud. He went back behind the counter and kept looking at me while taking to the next customer’s order. On the back of the paper, I wrote my answer:  
Thank you. My name’s Kassandra. I’m fourteen. No, I don’t want to hang out sometime. :)  
I got up and handed him the paper back. He read it and looked up at my disappointed-like. I shrugged and grabbed the take-out bag. As I was walking away, I heard him tell the customer:  
“I asked her out and she said no.” WE JUST MET AND YOU’RE OLDER THAN ME!! Of course I said no! I decided I wanted a seat near the front to wait for my dad, but not too try-hard-like. I wanted to sit somewhere that said “Sure, I slept here last night, but don’t worry I’m fine.” Well, I don’t want the seat to say that ‘cause that’d be weird, but you know what I mean. Now it was time to play the waiting game. I checked the time. 10:56. Not too long, actually. An hour, plus 10 minutes or so if he’s sitting all the way in the back because he got a last minute ticket. I watched the TV for a little bit and ate my sandwich. I noticed that a lot of the flight attendants were looking at me and talking amongst themselves. I ignored them. I will admit, it was a very long, boring 45 minutes. A few people wanted to start conversations with me, but I politely ignored them. I was zoning out when I heard my phone ring. I looked at the screen: Burt Hummel (Dad). I picked it up as soon as I saw the name.   
“Hello?” I asked.  
“You never texted me an address. Where are you?” he asked over the line.  
“I’m at the airport. Gate 7,” I said.  
“You stayed at the airport?” he asked, concerned sounding. At this point I realized: What if I have siblings? I didn’t want to get that far yet, so I ignored the thought as soon as it came in.   
“Yeah. It’s fine, though,” I said.  
“Okay. Well, I’m at the back of the plane. We’ll be out in a few minutes,”   
“Okay,” I said as he hung up. At first I didn’t think much of it, but then something felt wrong: “we’ll”.   
Who’s we? I thought. Was there someone else on that plane or did he just accidently say that? I was about to find out. I didn’t know who I was looking for. I had no idea what he looked like. It seemed like everyone was off of the plane. I was losing hope. What if he was joking? I slouched down in the seat. After almost everyone was away from the waiting area, I saw two people come out of the tunnel. A man and a woman. They were looking everywhere. I stood up. The woman tapped the man (who was looking in a different direction) and pointed to me. She said something to him but I couldn’t make out what it was. The man sprinted towards me.   
“Kassandra?” he said. I nodded. I couldn’t say anything. I was sobbing. Someone came. He hugged me. I didn’t love hugs but this was my father.   
“This is my wife, Carole,” he said, motioning towards the woman.  
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said. She was so kind. I wasn’t used to that at all.   
“You too,” I said through tears. Tears of joy.   
“The plane back is tomorrow days. If anyone calls you back here for the… ya know… thing, then we can come back. Right now, let’s focus on getting you your things. What’s your address?” he said.   
“1016 Wallace Lane,” I answered, “How are you planning on getting there? Did you rent a car?” There was a moment of silence.   
“That’s a great question,” he said, “I did not.” I laughed. I actually laughed and it was genuine. Since we had a little time before the next bus, Burt and Carole decided they should get something to eat.   
“I already ate, so I won’t need anything for a while” I said.   
“You sure?” I nodded.   
“Alrighty, McDonalds?” he asked. Carole nodded and they got in line. I leaned up against a half wall dividing the fast food place and the rest of the airport. After they finished ordering, the cashier looked up and saw me in the background with a smirk on my face.   
“Your parents?” he mouthed and pointed to them so that I could see but they couldn’t. I nodded, the smirk more prominent than before. He took a deep breath in and blushed as red as a tomato. Burt and Carole finished their food and we left the airport.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
We ended up taking a bus from the airport to a bus stop by my house.   
“Welcome to la casa Haynes,” I said when we got to my house. We got up to the porch and I unlocked the door. It was extremely quiet. It used to always be filled with noise, whether it be my mom yelling, me blasting music, or even just the old dishwasher, it was always noisy. And now there was none of it. I shook my head to clear my thoughts and focused on one thing: getting my stuff.   
“You guys can stay here, or walk around, or do anything really,” I said, going upstairs. As I was walking to my room, I saw her room. It was the same way she left it: out of order everything. Drawers were open, clothes half-way off hangers, bed messy. I ignored it and went to my room. I had never realized how big the difference was between us. My room was incredibly neat. I got a suitcase out of my closet and started packing. Shirts (mostly band t-shirts), jeans, a dress just in case, dress shoes, sneakers, underwear, bras. Anything that I would need. Then to the bathroom: Tooth brush, tooth paste, hair brush, and a hair dryer (because I highly doubt my mom will need it anymore). After another minute or so of looking around to see what else I needed, (I ended up grabbing my phone charger, laptop case, and a small book of photos) I went downstairs.   
“Did you guys get a hotel?” I asked as I put my suitcase by the door.   
“No, but I was thinking we could find one real quick and check in,” Burt said. I nodded and we left the house.   
“So what’s going to happen to the house and all of the stuff?” Carole asked.   
“It’s gonna be abandoned. I’m sure squatters will just take over it,” I replied, kind of sad to hear it out loud. Whatever. I got what I needed. I didn’t have that much left behind anyways. We got to the bus stop just as it was coming. We got on and Burt asked the driver if she could take us to the closest hotel. It was 20 minutes away. I stared out the window and zoned out for about half of the ride. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Burt sitting down next to me.   
“So, do you have any family that you know of here?” he asked. I was a little taken aback because someone actually cared about my situation.   
“Not that I know of,” I replied, “my mom always kept it a secret. We were never really the family type.” He nodded.  
“Speaking of your mom, how was she? The last time I saw her, she was trying to make a name for herself as a painter,” he said.  
“She wanted to be a painter?” I asked, “That must’ve stopped as soon as I came along because for as long as I can remember, she was an alcoholic.”   
“She was an alcoholic?” he repeated, “I never would’ve guessed that.”  
“Well, I couldn’t guess that she was a painter so now we’re even,” I said, my sarcasm coming out a little bit. He laughed. For the rest of the ride we sat mostly in silence. We got to the hotel and while Burt was checking in, I decided I wanted to know a little more about the family.  
“So, when did you guys get married?” I asked. It was the first conversation starter that came to mind.  
“2011,” she said, “his wife passed away awhile before we met, and so did my husband.   
“Wow. You guys seem like you’ve known each other forever,” I said. She smiled.   
“I don’t know if I should be thankful or worried that I look old,” she said and I laughed a little.   
“Okay, so I got a room that has an adjoined room,” Burt said as he walked over to us, “I hope that’s alright with you.”  
“Yeah, it’s fine,” I replied. I took my phone out of my pocket to check the time. 2:10 p.m.. I knew the bus ride took a long time, but I didn’t realize that it was over an hour. We took the elevator to the floor that the room was on and found it after a minute or so of searching. It was a nice room. I had never stayed in a hotel in Washington because, well, I do live here. Check out time was noon and the mini breakfast bar in the lobby opened at 6 a.m.. I sat down on one of the two beds in the connecting room. My heart started racing. My mind started to fill with thoughts about moving across the country, about what friends I would be leaving behind, about what people I would be joining. I started sweating. Not the usual cold sweats you get when you’re about to throw up, but just sweat. I walked into the bathroom, trying to maintain my balance, pulled a washcloth out from under the sink, and put it under some cold water. I wiped my face off and it helped me calm down a little. I tried to get my mind to stop racing and started breathing. I closed my eyes and remembered what the school counselor told me to do when I started having a panic attack. In your nose, out your mouth. I repeated those steps for what seemed like hours. I opened my eyes and looked at myself in the mirror. Carole was standing behind me.   
“Hey,” I said, casually. I learned pretty quickly how to recover when someone was watching.   
“Are you alright?” she asked, concerned. That was weird. I had never heard a parental figure sound concerned.   
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I replied, heart getting back to a normal pace.   
“Okay, well Burt and I were wondering if you wanted to get something for dinner, but maybe you should just stay here and rest,” she said.  
“No, no. I’ll be fine. I’ve gotten through worse,” I confirmed.   
“I guess not all people are the same. My son would’ve wanted to stay home after something like that,” she said.   
“You have a son?” I inquired, heart racing again. I have a brother?  
“More like had,” she said, “He passed away in 2013.” My heart stopped.  
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I apologized.   
“It’s alright. I just thought you should know,” she replied. I nodded. I had a brother. Good to know. I put the washcloth down on the counter just as Burt knocked on the door separating the rooms.   
“Are you guys coming?” he asked.  
“Yeah,” I said, “We’ll be out in a second.” I hugged Carole. It was a little awkward, but I wanted to. She smiled and we came out of the hotel room.


End file.
